Speccie Funny Valentine
 

Bazza gets the fiver and introduces me to a word I have never seen before. Thank you. A win also for Bill Greenwell and an Hon mensh for Sam Gwynn.

The new competition ought to be a breeze.

My love is like an onion... bunion, trunnion... hum!

No. 2735: Funny Valentine
You are invited to take as your first line ‘My love is like a [fill in blank],’ and continue, in light verse, for up to 16 lines. Please email entries, if possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 15 February.

Here's a quick effort:

O My love’s like a red red rose
In a bed worms burrow in.
Thou hast hard roots and parasites
And thorns that pierce my skin.

Thou’rt choked with weeds and fallen leaves,
Infested plants and canes,
With Fungus, canker, cane dieback;
The pesticide, it rains.

Grey lesions spot thy flower head,
Thy buds brown and decay.
But I’ll abide ‘til cutting time
And spray ye every day

With lime-sufur and Mancozeb,
Captan and Triforine.
I’ll love thee ‘til the Flower Show,
Such beauties must be seen.

Good, Susan

And a quick one from me -- though I wish I knew how to get a subscript for the 2 in CO2:

MY LOVE

My love is like a seed that grows
And makes of CO2
A picture-perfect scented rose,
But how? I wish I knew.

By what odd photosynthesis?
And whence the chlorphyl
That summons forth two lips whose kiss
Can bollix up my will?

I know, of course, these things are true,
But how? My brain is stuck.
How did my love make CO2
A substance I can pluck?

Anti-Valentine?
 

My love is like a ball of fur
that gags me when I look at her.
Below her bangs the eyebrows mate,
her eyes are runny, teeth like slate.
Her ears, unlike some tiny seashells,
swing a lot like misshaped cowbells.
Her twitching nose is ski-slope long
and never has inspired a song.
With lips severely under drawn
and tongue that yaps from dusk to dawn,
with sour breath to make one reel,
this is a gal no one would steal.
But I’m a pooch who loves her smile
when we’re embracing doggy style.

Well, a little surgery on my Valentine of last week.

Funny Valentine

My love is like a bleeding heart
By Cupid's arrow fractured.
'It's clear,' I told the quack,'the part
Was badly manufactured.'

The honest sawbones sighed, 'Too true,'
And fitted a replacement.
Alas, another arrow flew
In at the open casement.

O Venus you have done me wrong,
Sweet Lady of the seaside!
I've heard too long your tedious song.
Now play to me the B side.

You say a love-free life lacks joy,
A church without a steeple.
Desist. And keep your little boy
From shooting stuff at people.

My love is like . . . how can I say?
She's not like this or that,
Not roses, nor a summer's day.
Such metaphors fall flat.

She's not like spring. She's not like fall.
She's human, not a season.
She's not like anything at all.
All metaphors are treason.

My love is like . . . I can't, you see,
Declare without compunction,
That she's like anything. For me,
Mere metaphors don't function.

My love is like a treasure chest.
It longs to give you what is best.
It wants you ruffling through its drawers,
claiming what you find as yours.
It wants you polishing its knob
on bended knee before you rob
it of its contents. Holy fire!
Your every wish is its desire.
Your casual need will always bring
it much delight. A noble thing,
it stands there, blatantly erect,
and hopes one day you will detect
its grand devotion to your charms.
Perhaps you could throw both your arms
around its sides and plant a kiss
on its high brow? That would be bliss.

Roger,

This isn't a proper subscript, but I think CO2 looks better than CO2, for your purposes here.

(It's just 'no 2' put into Bold size 1 font.)

Jayne

Thanks, Jayne. Now if you could fix the rest of the poem, I'm in business. Here's another:

MY LOVE IS LIKE A DREAM

My love is like a gorgeous dream,
or maybe even better!
But wait! She really is a dream.
So far I have not met her.

From what I've dreamt, though, when I do,
I'm in for quite a treat.
She's beautiful, kind-hearted, fun,
romantic, sexy, sweet,

she's talented, insightful, smart,
her intellect's a doozy!
Oh how I pray that she exists
and that she's not too choosy!

MY LOVE IS LIKE

My love is like, my like is love.
And like's the love I love to like.
It makes me say, You see that dove
My love is like? My like is love,
A nonsense chant I'm guilty of
When Cupid's pointy arrows strike.
My love is like, my like is love.
And like's the love I love to like.